


His Red-Stained Wings

by KnightRepentant



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Dreams, Gen, Great Old Ones, Moonlight, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightRepentant/pseuds/KnightRepentant
Summary: 'See the little Finch with his red-stained wings, how they beat against the night. See the Finch and see him wade, through a lake of blood 'til morning light...'





	1. Treading the Shallows

“ _Fly home quickly, my little Finch._ ”

 

Important words, spoken with a sad smile. They were like the pure peal of a bell in a mind made thick by fatigue. White paint drifted gently from the ceiling, tiny flakes that settled on my face and stung my eyes, yet I found I could not lift even a finger to clear the air. The creaking of wheels cast my discomfort aside, however, replacing it with fear. A reaction which elicited an amused chuckle from this figure now hunched over the slab. A slip of paper was tugged from my breast pocket, wizened hands turned it over and over, scrutinising, 

“Ah yes…Paleblood.” A growing smile bared yellowing teeth, “You’ve certainly come to the right place…from a certain point of view, at least!” The paper was tucked neatly back into place, “More important here in Yharnam than elsewhere, you may find, that. But where’s an outsider like yourself to begin?” The wheelchair creaked ever closer, and the brim of that enormous hat lifted to reveal a most unwelcome visage.

 

 _No eyes, no eyes_ …

 

A glass flask appeared in those claw-like hands, and through it the world was a deep crimson, “Easy, with a bit of Yharnam blood of your own. But first…you’ll be needing a contract.” Neither pen nor ink were proffered with the paper, and I saw already my name scrawled at the top. A sharp pain bloomed on my right thumb, and icy fingers carefully pressed a bloody thumbprint upon the dotted line. “Perfect,” the visitor rolled up the contract, pausing only to glance at the name upon it, “All signed and sealed Mister, ah… _Finch_. Let’s begin the transfusion, shall we?” The room began to swim, a palette of greys running together, “Whatever happens, you may think it all merely a…bad dream.” A low laugh was all that followed me down into the dark.

The tang of copper was on the air, so strong as to rouse me from my torpor. The stench was so powerful it threatened to choke me, yet still I could not move. Nor could I cry out in terror as I saw a dark pool spreading across the floorboards, a wellspring of blood that crept silently towards where I lay stricken. It was what emerged, though, that sent ice into my veins. Some flayed horror, a wolf in the shape of a man, strung with rags and soaked in blood, rose from the pool wearing a feral grin. Claws like knives stretched out…this beast seemed to be savouring every second of my terror. I felt a claw dent the skin of my cheek, a scream I could not release tore at my insides, until a terrible heat struck from where my eyes could not reach. The beast howled as flames ate at its hide, collapsing into the blood-pool and disappearing from whence it had come. I had no time to ponder on what force had delivered me, the shadows were rushing from every corner to smother me once again.

_Cold_.

 

The candlesticks had faltered and faded in the time I had slept. Now, there came muted voices. The words were…nonsense. But to hear them sent a dull throb through my head, and then withered grey hands reached above the edge of the slab. Grasping, they dragged the rest of their twisted frames onto the slab, where I could only shake my head in anguish. More creatures appeared, their touch was ice and at last I managed to scream as all faded to black.

 

“ _Ahh, you’ve found yourselves a Hunter_ …”

         

In the third awakening, all came rushing back at once and I bolted upright with a yell. Those things had been everywhere, and yet now I was alone. The floor was pristine, if strewn with papers, with not a drop of blood to be seen. _What had all that before been, then? A delusion?_ A bandage wrapped around my arm, stained and frayed. How long had I lain here, helpless? Where _was_ here, for that matter? The room was quiet enough that I was able to hear my own frantic pulse. Dust covered all, rising in fine clouds as I climbed from the slab. My papers, satchel and gun were all missing, as was the silver brooch gifted by my Dearest. The door ahead was open, and led to a broad staircase whose foot lurked in oppressive gloom. I tread as lightly as one could, wincing at every faint creak.

Candlelight yet endured in the next room, showing to me many, many more operating tables. And between them…With wide eyes I peered from under my hood as I clung to the doorpost. Between the tables lay a mangled corpse, which twitched and jerked under the attentions of a hulking mass of fur and fangs. The beast’s muzzle was dark with blood, its eyes a shining yellow-white. Beyond it lay another staircase. There would be no sneaking past it, as focused as it was on the carcass, even a light-footed Finch would surely attract its notice. Panic began to rear its frenzied head within me, for once the beast finished one meal it was sure to seek out another. I wished dearly for my pistol, and there was no suitable replacement to be found. To be unarmed against such a beast likely would not end well. An empty vial, red stains still spotting its interior, presented an opportunity. I crept as close as I dared, until I could smell the rank odour of blood and decay clinging to the wolf-beast’s fur and…clothing. I tried not to think about that. Taking a deep breath, I hurled the bottle far across the room where it exploded against a shelf of yet more vials, sending the entire display to the floor in a hail of shards. The beast swung its twisted head up in an instant, then a powerful leap carried it over to the broken shelf. Seizing my chance, I leapt over the corpse, and my boots assailed every step in frantic flight to the doorway above.

A waning sun shone reluctantly upon a crowd of gravestones, I paused just long enough to hear the scrape of claws upon wood, and was flung forwards as the beast cannoned into me. The wolf creature tumbled from the impact, crashing into a headstone to land in a sprawl of freakish limbs. I scrambled to my feet and made a dash for a ruined iron gate. The beast was faster, however, and with a backhanded swipe sent me rolling to crash against a gnarled tree trunk. I leapt, scrambling to escape, but a clawed hand wrapped about my ankle like a vice, I heard bone creak and desperately kicked out with my other leg. My wild flailing managed to crack the beast across the brow, but it retaliated instantly to catch my bandaged arm betwixt its jaws. I screamed as the fangs plunged into my flesh, beating with my free hand at its face as my blood spattered upon the grass. Like a doll I was thrown back, and instantly the beast was upon me. I saw those claws come down, saw them slice my belly open in a spray of blood, ripping into me over and over. Agony was all I knew, until the beast’s jaws opened my throat and the mottled sky was extinguished like a lone candle in a tomb.

 

“ _Welcome home, good Hunter_ …”

 

 --

 

The pale orb of the moon hung vast above me. White flowers swayed to a breeze that seemed not to reach me as I lay upon unfeeling stone. All seemed to flow before my eyes, my hand blurring at the edges as I felt for the gaping rents in my throat and stomach. Nothing, not so much as a graze. I felt feather-light sitting up, where I then saw a modest house resting atop the hill. Everywhere the flowers danced, each pristine and perfect, as I tread carefully up the path. Orange light shone beyond the open door. The crackling of flames in the grate brought only a meagre warmth to my limbs, but the sight alone was comforting.

“Ahh, a new face joins the Hunt, hmm?” Another low chuckle, “A nervous little thing,” the new voice observed, after I stumbled over a pile of books in my shock, “You’ll need to strengthen that spine, lad, if you mean to survive the Hunt with your wits intact.” 

“Where…am I?” I asked as my eyes roved the room, resting with unease on the wide array of very sharp blades hanging above a workbench, “I…I remember a graveyard, and some huge beast it…I felt it tear me open!” I started once more as a walking cane thudded on the floorboards, 

“If you’d stop snivelling for a moment, lad, I might be able to help you! This,” the stranger moved into view now, again in a wheelchair, the old man waved his free hand in a broad arc, “is the Hunter’s Dream. It is a sanctuary, a place of rest and preparation. And I, since you seem to lack manners as well as resolve, am…Gehrman, a watcher over Hunters.”  _Hunter’s Dream? This is no dream as I have dreamt before. Either way, I have no time for whatever nonsense this antique is peddling_ , 

“I am no Hunter, I have a mission of my own.” 

“And you’re doing a magnificent job of it so far!” Gehrman cackled, “As if you were the first to seek out lonely Yharnam and its arts! No, the only way out is _through_ , through the night of the Hunt and rivers of beastly blood. It’s what you agreed to, after all.” From his tattered sleeve, Gehrman produced a roll of paper, “It always pays to read the fine print, eh?” I scowled at that bloody thumbprint as the old man laughed. 

 

 _Fine_.

 

Jaw tight I turned my face back to Gehrman, 

“How long must I hunt?” 

“As long as the night lasts, lad! We only wake come the dawn, do we not?” Gehrman lay his cane across his knees and, wheeling himself towards the workbench, beckoned me forward, “Ah, now to business! A Hunter deals in death and your bare fists won’t be up to the task.” A heavy pistol was pushed into my hand, “This won’t stop a rampaging beast, but a bullet to its face ought to give any fool the opening they need. For that…” Gehrman hefted a thick crescent of steel, one edge honed like a razor, the other adorned with vicious metal teeth, “…you’ll want one of these.” The thing was so crude, and yet so perfect for its intended use I felt myself almost admiring it. Gehrman laughed again, “If the sight of a Hunter’s weapon doesn’t turn the stomach, it isn’t doing its job.” But my eyes were instead drawn to a sturdy metal cane hidden amongst the mess of blades, and Gehrman for the first time seemed surprised, “Well, a Hunt is e’er full of the unexpected,” he picked the cane from its hook and proffered it, “do try not to slice off your own arm with it.” I took the cane, and immediately my arm dropped, “Heh, a little weightier than this,” Gehrman tapped his own cane against his boot. His voice took on a more exasperated tone then, “Just go and slaughter some beasts, dawn will take care of itself. This Dream and this workshop are for you to use as you wish.” I barely caught Gerhman’s last whispered words as he turned away, but it sent a shiver down my back all the same “ _even the doll, should it please you._ ” 

_Doll?_

 

This Dream, if that is what this realm truly was, seemed a very restful place. The rustle of curled leaves in the trees, the swaying of the flowers, even the rolling mist beyond all seemed geared towards setting a tranquil mood. Only the headstones that passed one at a time…

“Hello, good Hunter,” I nearly launched the threaded cane into the mist beyond, and admit to yelping as might a frightened pup. Between my crossed arms, I made out the form of a woman, tall and slender, standing patiently beside a flowerbed. If my childish shriek had disconcerted her in any way, she gave no sign, merely presenting me with a small smile. I lowered my arms, and straightened my coat, to see if I cannot salvage whatever dignity remains to me,

“H-hello. I ah…hope I didn’t startle you just now. Are you a watcher, like…Gehrman?” Her skin was incredibly pale, her hands were…porcelain. 

_Even the doll…_

 

“I am a doll, here in this dream to look after you.” Her face, motionless ceramic, nonetheless seemed benevolent. _This surely must be a dream, if dolls are talking to me now. But what can I do but play along?_ “Can you tell me how I might…leave, this dream?” The Doll laughed lightly, or at least, a laugh came from within her, for her mouth never moved, “Why, good Hunter, you must awaken. You will hunt beasts, and bring the echoes in their blood back with you to this dream. I will use them to embolden your sickly spirit. Such are our parts in this play, this Hunt.” She then produced a set of clothes, heavy leather, and a three-cornered hat, “If you walk as part of the Hunt, you must wear a Hunter’s attire. I hope you are light on your feet.” Her many-jointed hand swung out to indicate the first headstone, crowded with those tiny grey beings, “The little ones will guide you. Farewell, good Hunter, may you find your worth in the waking world.” I shivered once more at her frozen features, and knelt before the headstone. Then, the sensation of falling took me, and all turned to black once again.

The pale glow of a lantern illuminated the dank surgery. I could hear already the feasting of freakish jaws upon a carcass. Hastily I donned the Hunter’s garb, setting the hat firmly upon my head. The threaded cane felt heavy still, alien to my hand, but it was welcome all the same. Despite my new accoutrements, however, the tattered sky and ashen sun did not beckon with amiable intent. I hoped this night, this Hunt, would be short, I had to fly swiftly home to my Dearest, who waited so fondly and forlorn. But those thoughts I pushed aside for the moment, before me lay a rather more immediate concern. Leather creaked as I tightened my grip on the cane, and I strode with new purpose towards the first of my prey.

 

 --

 

The threaded cane slammed into the beast’s skull with a loud crunch, and blood sprayed upon the floor of the surgery. The wolf-creature snapped at empty air, dazed by the impact, but I felt the flutter of air even so. My new coat flared as I whirled to strike at its legs, only for a clawed hand to rake across my chest, adding my own blood to the boards. I leapt to evade a second swipe, only for the beast’s claws to catch my coat. Those twisted limbs had a strength that belied their gangly appearance, and my feet left the floor as the room blurred. The wall struck me hard in the back, banishing the breath from my lungs. The wolf’s jaws unfolded to wrap once again around my throat, only to meet a bullet coming the other way. A yelp preceded its head crashing to the floorboards. Reversing my grip on the cane, I plunged the Hunter weapon through the crown of the beast’s skull. Blood sprayed from the wolf’s gaping mouth, its legs twitched and jerked in shock, before going still. 

My chest felt fit to burst, and I gusted out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. The stink of blood was everywhere, a crimson skin upon my coat, my trousers and boots. The cane was sullied with blood and fur, held in a shaking hand. The room swam before my eyes, my hand left the slickness of blood upon my brow. I slid down the wall and sat hunched over, staring for a long time into the rictus grin of the wolf-beast, until my heart calmed itself. 

The sun still lurked between the spires as I walked again through that graveyard. The gate, this time, was not barred to me, through it lay Yharnam, in all its tarnished glory. To greet me first was a crashed carriage, half overturned, with its windows shattered and yet still a grand sight.  _Much like the city itself_ , I mused, looking out at the forest of spires glowing dully before the dusk. A second carriage lay ahead, and behind it I saw a ladder climbing to the rooftops,  _A Finch would do well to begin his Hunt from such a lofty vantage._ But as I reached the next carriage, my ears caught the chink of metal upon stone, and of uneven footsteps. I kept my steps light, and saw a stranger with his back to me, bearing a torch aloft and dragging a heavy axe across the cobbles.

_Another Hunter, perhaps?_

 

Gehrman neither mentioned whether I might encounter other Hunters, nor whether I should count them as allies. But before I could make my choice, a broken bottle found the sole of my boot, and the crunch of glass split the quiet. I never got the chance to see properly the man’s face, but his inhuman yell as he brought his axe around told me enough. I leapt aside as the blade smashed the carriage door to splinters, and brought my pistol up. This twisted creature stabbed his torch into my outstretched arm, crying,

“You…are not wanted ‘ere!!” And I screamed as my shot vanished into empty air. I punished his attack with the cane, the metal gouging his belly, and immediately the searing pain in my arm ceased. I saw flawless skin through the smouldering hole in my sleeve,

_Interesting_ … 

 

But the axe interrupted my confusion, the creature bared yellow teeth to chastise me once more, “You plague-ridden wretch!!” I ducked inside the swing, bringing my right arm up and back in one fluid motion. The point of the cane arrowed forth, skewered the man’s throat and exploded from the other side in a fountain of blood. Shock fluttered across his ruined face in the instant before his eyes glassed over. His collapse freed the cane, now completely dark with blood. I made no effort to clean it, there were undoubtedly others such as this poor wretch, too far gone in their affliction to help in any other manner. I began my ascent of the ladder, only for a blood-curdling shriek to echo from between the towers. My mind reeled from the thought of what form of beast had made such a noise, I could but hope I remained beneath its notice.

Another lamp awaited me beyond the top of the ladder, and by its humble glow I could see now the great splashes of blood adorning my garb, filling the air with an inescapable coppery tang. I scrubbed at my sleeves and trousers as I scanned the clearing, and my eyes alighted upon a second lantern, breathing a red smoke into the air. It shone outside a window, and upon approaching it I made out the form of a man slumped upon the sill. I knew he yet lived for his body was wracked by fits of terrible coughing. But his eyes were quick, and darted to me as I rapped upon the glass,

“Ahh, you would be…one of the Hunters. I…I salute you,” I pulled the cloth from my face with a glad smile,

“Aye, and you speak as one of my own countrymen!” A brief flicker of joy was his reaction, and he clutched his chest as he replied,

“Good to see you haven’t…lost your mind just yet, my lad. If you seek… shelter here, I’m afraid I…cannot help you. I’m contagious…this plague, this beastly scourge…has me…in its grip!” He fell to another fit of coughing, “I know not…what you hope to find…here, but please…tread carefully, I would hate to see…more suffering come to…come to…!” His coughs were now punctuated by sobs of pain, “Go, young one! I’m beyond any skill of yours! Fair fortune…in your Hunt…” My heart sank at the despair in his voice, but I could only do as he bade me. After all, I had only scratched the surface of this horror-filled maze. 

To my right a stairway led down, where across a bridge I saw a passage blocked by crates. At my approach, the crates burst apart in a hail of wooden shards and another man-creature roared from the murk, swinging a vicious-looking sickle in frenzied arcs. As the weapon sang past my face, I leapt to hurl my booted foot up into his stomach. The man gasped and his body was flung forward to impale itself upon the cane. I whirled and drops of blood were flung from the Hunter weapon until it slammed into his neck, breaking it with ease. Blood had gushed from the stab wound to cover my gloved hand, playing a staccato rhythm as it dripped onto the cobblestones. Down the passage stood another beast, this time bearing a shield. Whether he was distracted or simply no longer aware, the fiend never noticed my cautious approach until I looked almost over his shoulder.

I drew back the cane, my arm primed like the hammer of a gun before the trigger is pulled, until I put all my power behind it and drove the cane into his back. The man howled in agony and fell to his knees. Not wasting a moment, as if by instinct I plunged my hand into the wound, seized a fistful of viscera and ripped it from his body in a crimson torrent. The creature folded up without a sound, leaving me staring in horror at the dripping mess I clutched in my fist. I threw it down in an instant, my legs growing weak, the cane falling to the stones as I heaved the meagre remnants of my last meal upon the ground.

_Is this the Hunt as Gehrman knows it?! Is the city so befouled that blood is the only thing that may cleanse it?!_

 

I rose to the sound of footsteps and the smell of flame. In the street below, a mob of beast-men staggered in a freakish procession. Rakes, axes, cleavers and clubs waved in twisted hands. There were dozens of them, shambling along and muttering without pause. I crept down more stairs to street level, until I followed closely behind the rearmost fiend, the cane poised again to strike him in the back. Then a howl of rage broke my focus,

“This is all your fault!!” And a cleaver bit deep into my side. A cry of pain had barely left me as the cane took its revenge, once again the agony of my wound vanished, but now every beast of the mob had turned to face me. An axe knocked the cane aside before a shield flung me back, and as I rolled my fingers caught upon something in the cane’s handle. The stout metal immediately collapsed, uncoiling into a long whip, adorned with razor-sharp segments of steel. I felt a grin spread upon my face, and the whip drew sparks upon the cobbles as I flourished it.

_Now_ this _…is much more like it._

 

 --

 

The bladed whip opened two throats in the first swing. I shut my eyes as the red rain struck me, and paid for it when a sickle sank into my shoulder. Howling in mad triumph, the beast-man pulled me onto an up-swinging axe. I felt steel tear into my innards, breath stolen from my lungs.

 

_Forgive me, my Dearest, I have failed y-_

 

Lantern light shone upon my waxen visage, a pitiless sky speared by dark towers my only greeting. No wound lingered upon me, no pain, or blood to stain my garb. Sitting up, I saw in the window a familiar shape, that of the sickened man choking on the plague. There was the sun also, ashen and weary, just as it had been before. _What is this? Was all that before just another dream? But I awoke! From that Hunter’s Dream, and the doll!_ The cane and the pistol lay at my feet, beckoning silently. I remembered then the words of Gehrman,

“ _The only way out is_ through _, through the night of the Hunt and rivers of beastly blood_.” Gathering my weapons, I set off once again down the passage. Across the bridge, the madman swung his sickle as he charged. The cane broke his arm and skewered him, and I stood over the corpse numbed as though by winter’s bite. I knew that face, I remembered his eyes filling with fear, I remembered killing him and yet there he lay, slaughtered anew. Would he reawaken too? Would he remember our previous meeting, as I did?

 

_Strange times…_

The great mob of beast-folk trudged along as I had left them. With a flick of my wrist, the whip uncoiled, and I laid open the back of the nearest fiend in a shower of blood. This time I did not relent, flogging the horde with swing after savage swing. Soon there was more blood upon the stones than rainwater yet still they kept coming. Blades pierced me and flame charred my clothes, so I punished their grievances with lashes of the whip, letting beastly blood wash away the pain. My pace forward was measured but constant, boots soaked in crimson marched through a mire of gore and flayed corpses. I saw again the look of fear in wild, bloodshot eyes. _How must I seem to them? Some faceless, blood-soaked horror with a whip? This…thing, which just won’t be stopped?_ Or perhaps they were too far gone now for such thoughts.

          Around another wrecked carriage, the stench of cooking flesh and woodsmoke smothered the stink of blood. A great beast, fully transformed, was crucified above a roaring pyre. Its hindquarters now naught but charred bones. The beast’s jaws gaped wide in death, as did its sole remaining eye, shining pale like the moon. Gathered around it was another crowd, much larger than the mob from before. This would require a more subtle approach. An elevated walkway offered a vantage from relative stealth. The few stragglers I dealt with easily enough. The last fool had chosen to stand with his back to me; I sowed his innards upon the pavement. A few thrown stones served to lure lone beasts away from the crowd, into shadowed corners where the cane could do its work unnoticed. All was going smoothly, if not for the hound…

          My ears rang with a loud barking, some starved dog had scented me and now the horde turned as one to face me. A bullet struck sparks on the wall beside my head. I spun and let my momentum carry the steel segments through three throats. A bottle rolled from the coat of a beastman as his headless corpse collapsed. Rolling to evade another bullet, my hand found the bottle filled with oily liquid. I hurled it up and over the front line, where it exploded in a flower of flame, covering the crowd. Screams and howls of agony echoed off the walls, and I pressed my advantage, slicing and lashing at all before me. I made sure to drag the whip through some of the clinging flame, wielding a burning weapon against the rest. A third bullet carved a line of red across my cheek, I ran along the opposite pavement, ducked beneath a swinging rake to crash against the rifleman standing atop a carriage. We plunged together to the pavement, the tip of the cane stabbing into the dirt. The beast’s twitching body grew still, and the cane stood up on its own between his eyes.

          I looked up, my breath ragged, chest heaving. The mob had scattered, I heard panicked yelps fading down alleys until only the drip of water broke the silence. The street made for a traumatic scene, bodies mangled and torn were strewn from one side of the street to the other. A trail of blood, severed limbs and spilled guts followed me from the lantern. Twisted men and women, gone to beasthood, slain in the dozens. I pulled the cane free, my grip sure, the metal nearly indistinguishable beneath the blood, and washed it in the cleanest puddle I could find. I saw my gloves, too, were stained with blood, and scrubbed hard at the leather. My boots were next, I felt my breathing quicken, the scrubbing grow feverish, I felt the tears come; imagined them leaving trails of clear skin down my red-stained face.

_Rivers of beastly blood…_

 

So this is how it must go, this was the Hunt. I straightened up, and followed the only passage open to me. Beyond lay an open space, a courtyard planted with skeletal trees and an impressive fountain, run dry. There was a roar, human and yet not, and I felt a shudder strike me at the sight. A hulking figure, grown and twisted beyond proportion, seeming more like an ogre than a wolf, was hammering upon a barred gate. Treading carefully, I put the fountain between us and moved toward another window lit by a red lantern. Light shone from within, framing a small figure curled up on the sill. _A child?_ I prayed briefly to the Lords that she was untouched by the plague, for my heart could not bear the alternative, and hastily cleaned my face before tapping tentatively upon the pane. A small, pale face looked up, eyes wide with fear, for I could have been anyone, any _thing._ I raised my hand in a brief wave, which led the ghost of a smile to briefly alight upon her face,

“Who…are you?” I endeavoured to steady my voice as I replied,

“My name is Finch, I’m a traveller from beyond Yharnam,” The child turned her head away, but her gaze and tone were thick with suspicion,

“I don’t know your voice, but I know that smell,” sheepishly I scrubbed again at my coat, “You smell like the moon, are you a Hunter?” Her eyes drifted to the cane, which I lowered carefully,

“It was not a choice made lightly, but aye, a Hunter I am.” Instead of the fear and disgust I’d expected, the girl’s eyes shone with sudden tears,

“Then, please will you find my mother? Father never returned from the Hunt and she went to find him, now she’s…I’m all alone, and scared!”

“So am I.” I replied, then frowned at having spoken aloud without realising.

“A Hunter is never scared, you fight the beasts, just like Father!” I looked sadly at the cane, clean now and shining,

“I’m not scared of the beasts, they’re sick and this is…this is only way to help them, I’m afraid of… _agh_ , you are too young to understand. But I will find your mother, little one, if I can.” Her small face lit up at my promise,

“Really? Oh, thank you! S-she wears a red-jewelled brooch, it’s so big and beautiful; you couldn’t miss it! Oh…” She reached behind her, and held up a small wooden box, “if you find her, bring her this music box,” The pane creaked open just enough for her small hand to place the box on the outer sill, “it plays one of Father’s favourite songs, we play it when he forgets us, so he remembers. She’s silly to run off without it!” I took the box carefully, turned the key and opened the lid. A simple melody began to play, one that spoke of evenings sat together before the hearth, of a family…There was tightness in my chest as I looked up again,

“It’s…a nice song. Be safe, little one, perhaps stay back from the windows, I’ll see if I can bring your mother back safe.” I waved again as I retreated, one which she returned with a sad smile and the parting words,

“Good luck, mister Finch. Please don’t be afraid.” I nodded before turning away, spirit emboldened with a new purpose.  _Lords let her mother be alive_ ,  _let some joy find me before the night is done._

 --

 

A trail of blood and broken bodies followed in my wake from the fountain yard. Another door lit by a red lantern passed me by, though all I heard within was a frantic, torturous laughter, and moved quickly on my way. A long causeway unrolled before me, cluttered with discarded luggage, carriages, and stack upon stack of coffins. Even though I kept my distance, I saw a few had been bound in heavy chains, for reasons I refused to contemplate. Across the bridge lay a gateway to the soaring Cathedral district. Again I felt the call of the sky, to be high above where I might better see these hunting grounds. All that barred my way were a pair of slavering wolf-beasts. I allowed them to glimpse me, a hound will attack if it senses fear after all. But before they could pounce, another bottle of oil curved through the air. I took aim, and the bullet caught at black fur as it flew to its target. 

The flask detonated above the cobbles, showering both creatures with clinging fire. Thrashing and howling in pain, the beasts suffered the whip’s bite over and over. I don’t remember when I began to shout at them, only the taste of the blood flying into my face,

“You will not have me! Do you hear?!” I broke forelimbs with the cane, shattered jawbones and flayed skin from flesh with the whip’s metal teeth, my voice cracking with each strike, “ _You will not have me!!_ ” The skyline came back into focus as the beast choked its last at my feet. I kicked the corpse aside and continued along the bridge. A flurry of wings sent dust into my eyes and I felt sharp talons rake my arms and shoulders. The whip smote the crows from the sky just in time for another giant to knock me into the carriage with tremendous force.

I halted the beast-man’s next charge with a blast from the pistol, leaping back as my arm swung out. The whip shimmered silver as it reached out, to coil about the ogre’s neck. I jerked my arm back and the snare tightened with the hiss of steel upon steel. The beast roared, in pain and outrage, but his mutated fingers could not pry the whip’s teeth loose. His strength was prodigious, but the noose only grew closer about his throat as he thrashed in panic. Blood was pouring from his neck now, I heard a low growl emanate from my own mouth as I heaved on the whip one final time and heard bone snap. The brute crashed to the ground, I pulled the whip free as I stepped over his corpse. The spreading pool of crimson rippled beneath my quiet tread.

I was out on the bridge now, beyond the stone barriers the world dropped into a pit of darkness. Ahead lay a shadowed gateway, a stern lattice of wrought iron that denied all entry to the upper streets. Still I felt the call to the sky, and where the Cathedral lay, so too must the leaders of this Healing Church. Passing through the arch led me to be startled once more, by a low voice scraping across the cold air,

“One more whelp thrown into the fray, I see.” A lean rake of a man leant against the wall in the arch’s shadow, tattered clothes hung from him like sheets put out to dry, and beneath a wide-brimmed hat, I could discern only frayed strips of cloth crossing over his eyes. “What do you seek in the Cathedral Ward, to brave this crossing?” The axe leaning beside him caught my eye, the crescent blade tarnished with old bloodstains, tufts of hair and wisps of cloth, the sight made me shiver before I gave my answer,

          “The Healing Church and its arts lie beyond. I am bidden to the highest ranks of the clergy, to beg for their aid.” The Hunter bared greying teeth in a feral laugh, I tried hard not to lean back as his breath soured the air,

          “Ha, you think those gates kept the scourge out?” The stranger took up his long-handled axe, “The clerics turned long ago, whelp, their faith rewarded by becoming the most twisted beasts of all,” at that moment a shriek pierced the quiet, and I felt the stones underfoot begin to tremble. The stranger’s teeth parted in another low laugh, “As you’ll soon discover, little bird.” I felt his gaze on me as I left the shelter of the arch, the cane poised to smite whatever horror lunged for me this time.

          A clawed hand fit to encase my head wrapped over the rampart above the gate, and the form that heaved itself into view numbed every nerve I possessed. Long scarecrow limbs lurched across the stones, one arm was grossly engorged and wreathed in black hair, and atop it all was a grinning deer-skull face adorned with twisted black antlers. Around the neck was the shredded remains of a white robe, _the robe of a cleric, maybe?_ More than that I had no time to contemplate, as the thing shrieked a challenge and charged. The mutant arm swung down, catching the hem of my coat as I leapt forward. The cane lashed out, slicing the beast’s calf. No time was given for a second strike, and I was forced to dash away or be crushed underfoot. Howling in frustration, the Cleric beast slammed its freakish fists upon the cobbles, clawing at my heels as I fled. A split second was my opening and the whip uncoiled with a rattle of steel teeth. I flung out my arm and the whip snapped tight around one of the beast’s legs. With all my might I pulled, wrenching the creature’s foot from under it, until the beast crashed to the ground. The cane re-formed, and I plunged it towards the Cleric beast’s unguarded flank. But the twisted arm swept around and the frigid air rushed past until my back collided with a statue and light exploded across my vision.

          Blind and confused, I barely felt the claws seize my arm until I was hurled once again, thudding into the stone over and over. My right hand was empty, the bridge swam as I searched desperately, _where was the cane?!_ The beast barrelled towards me, no doubt seeing itself reflected in my terror-wide eyes. I screamed and raised my pistol in panic, the report was followed by the most Lords-forsaken screech I had yet heard. The thing was clutching its face as it dropped forward. Instinct took me and I stabbed my hand into the mess of eyes and teeth…and _pulled_. Bone popped and cracked, eyes ruptured and skin ripped free. The Cleric beast screamed and screamed as it staggered about blindly, destroying statues and carriages in its agony. What remained of its face looked like a burst seed-casing, splinters of bone spreading like ivory petals. The eyes that remained rolled to focus on me, my sleeve dark to my shoulder. The claws were a blur, frenzied by pain and hate, and I felt my skin tear from my body in strips. My own blood joined that of the beast upon the cobbles. The whip avenged my injuries, and the beast’s blood rained upon me, washing my ruined flesh clean of its hurts.

          I leapt back, and the clawed hands cracked the stones before me. I levelled the pistol at the creature’s ruined visage and fired again, sending a great arc of blood out across the air. Its scream pierced my skull like a white-hot knife, and in its throes I was flung back even as my arm lashed out. The whip snapped taut, the handle ripped from my grasp until I crashed against the stone arch. Blood stained my cheek as I struggled to raise my head, the moon and sky were obscured by blackness as the beast’s fist crushed me into the cobblestones.

          I glared at the smoky sky that met me upon awakening. Picking myself off the floor, I set off once more along that ravaged street, while all of Yharnam threw itself in snarling frenzy upon me.

Back and forth, back and forth the threaded cane lashed. Bullets bit into me, flame seared my skin and claws drew lines of red in my flesh and still I marched on, slashing with teeth bared, unheeding of the blood spraying into my face. In the fountain yard the ogre came for me. The whip dragged him down, then I re-formed it as the cane in time to skewer him up under the chin and into the brain.

At last I stood again at the stone arch. The Cleric beast bellowed its challenge, and I stepped forth once again to meet my foe. Steel bit deep into freakish limbs and my bullets made a ruin again of its face while we danced to and fro to the beast’s discordant screaming. Bone crunched beneath the cane’s assault, claws raked my arms and back before fresh blood washed the wounds away. I struck hard at the creature’s legs in quick succession and it collapsed with a howl to the stone. Vaulting onto its back, I uncoiled the whip. The steel teeth glinted orange before the setting sun as I swung it under and around the beast’s neck and seized the other end like the reins of a horse. The Cleric beast staggered upright and I let myself fall back, fall until the teeth caught its flesh to let blood flow free. Howling in outrage, the creature flailed and trampled along the bridge, all while the bladed whip sawed deeper and deeper.

The screeching soon gave way to the distressed gasps of the choking man, then to a dull gurgle as blood filled the lungs. So sure was I in my victory that I did not see its grasping fingers, and then the scene was a blur of grey. The Cleric beast breathed its last upon the bridge wall, until its bulk carried it over the edge. Whether I screamed or not, I cannot recall, but I remember well the roofs charging upwards to greet me, hearing the crack of roof shingles, and the last glimpse of a fading sun before my waking mind was extinguished like a blown candle.


	2. Approach of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'From the squalid depths the Finch did soar, yearning for a thing most precious and profane...'

No sun greeted me upon my return to consciousness. All I could glimpse far above the towers that loomed large around me was a darkening sky. But it was not the tattered clouds above that intruded upon my thoughts. As feeling trickled back into my limbs, I realised I lay upon a narrow ledge overlooking a flooded courtyard, my arm hanging limply from its edge. The stench assaulting my senses told me that that the dark pool below was not at all a reservoir, but a cistern. What truly held my attention, however, was whatever kept trying to grasp my bruised fingers. I turned my head, tasting stone wet with rainwater and blood, and caught sight of another stomach-turning horror. A long, spindly arm reached up from the muck towards me, the flesh hanging in the barest strips from rot-stained bones. The creature to which it belonged held the look of a sodden corpse long left to stew in this pit. Eyeless sockets and black teeth gaped as I rolled with a grunt of pain onto my side.

My perch was safe enough. Every bone in my body seemed ablaze as I struggled to my feet, retrieving my cane and pistol from where they lay. From my new vantage, I saw the pit awash with the foul crawlers, and beyond the lot of them, the only way out.

                           

_I need blood…_

 

My limbs still burned from the fall, but beastly blood had cleansed me of my hurts before. Once again, the only way out was _through_. Wind rushed past my head as I leapt, light flashing upon the cane’s dark steel as it cracked open a rotten skull like porcelain. What little fresh viscera was left within sprayed forth. With a click, the cane uncoiled and the toothed whip lashed in rings about me. Their time rotting in this filth had made the beasts sluggish, and they died easily to the whip’s bite. Blood and slime adorned my coat, and I waded towards a winding passage, ears straining for the growling of beasts. Hunched black forms turned their glassy gaze upon me from the upper level, but the crows let me be. I felt their eyes upon me until I reached the mouth of the tunnel. The meagre light of dusk was just as reluctant to venture in as I, it seemed, for the darkness seemed as a wall standing in my way. No other way was open to me, however, and I kept the pistol raised as the shadows folded around me.

          Water beat an uneven tune on the muck that slithered around my feet. Again I was thankful of the neckerchief wrapped around my face, for it held the worst of the stench at bay. The muzzle of the pistol wandered back and forth before me, trembling as I was, until it met something solid. Something that stirred. The tunnel blared with a scream, one that conjured memories of the abattoirs back home. The darkness thundered towards me, bellowing and throwing me to the ground. My limbs burned but I rolled to crouch in the mud. The beast had charged from the tunnel, and my stomach churned at the sight of a monstrous pig. Its skin was grey and riddled with sores, and two tiny white eyes rolled in their sockets. My resolve wavered as it screamed again, and I fled down the tunnel. The thunder of hooves pursued me until the gleam of metal rungs answered my fervent prayers. Trembling fingers scrambled on slick iron as my flight carried me up out of the dark. The terror-swine bellowed its frustration far below.

          The top of the ladder gained me a view of another bridge, crowded with more misshapen townsfolk. At the near end, one of the hulking troll-men waited beside a…an enormous ball of straw? The scent of lamp oil was thick in the air, and I guessed easily the trap that had been set for me. A wicked grin sprang to my face, and I pulled from my coat the last bottle of oil. The firebomb sailed gracefully to shatter on the side of the troll-man’s head, which erupted in a sphere of clinging flame. The giant shrieked and thrashed, crashing into the oil-soaked straw. I felt the blast of heat even where I stood, content to watch the roaring pyre in a moment of peace. Behind yet more towers, I saw the shadowed bulk of a cathedral waiting for me above. I kept the pistol ready as the alley closed around me once more.

          The snap of steel boot-heels on cobblestone gave way to the rustle of sickly grass, and my eyes looked around at a veritable thicket of headstones. Mist lay thick upon the ground, pooling around twisted trees, only disturbed by the shudder of a flayed corpse at the garden’s heart. Whatever manner of creature it had been was unrecognisable now, suffering as it had the brutal attentions of a scarecrow-like figure wielding a greataxe. The sickening thud of the crescent blade into flesh sent tremors along my spine. Tremors that only deepened when I realised at whom I was looking. The holy man from the bridge, who had held me in such contempt. I held the pistol close as I stepped forward, close enough to be noticed.

 

_Though not enough to seem as a threat…one hopes…_

The axe came down again, biting deep in a flower of red. Thin lips revealed more teeth than they should,

          “So, the whelp still lives, does it? Perhaps there is a spine in there after all…” I let my gaze dart from his bandaged face, to rest over his shoulder upon a sight most unwholesome. A woman in red, now if not before, lay upon a low roof. Her ruined form, evidence of a most gruesome fate, bore a token that stirred a fresh memory within me.

 

_“S-she wears a red-jewelled brooch, it’s so big and beautiful; you couldn’t miss it!”_

And my weary heart sagged as my chest seemed to grow close around it. The holy man watched as I began a wide circle around him, “A sorry night this is, but fitting for such sorry business as ours.” My eyes darted from the dead woman to my unwelcome guest,

          “Perhaps,” I managed, the words had to fight their way free so tight was my chest, “but t’is all for the best, is it not?” Those cloth-swaddled eyes never left me, and I grew desperate in the deepening silence, “My name is Finch, who might you be?” My words may have been the wind for all he acknowledged them, and his seemed more for his own hearing than mine,

          “Beasts…beasts all over the shop…” The woman was near now, I saw the brooch glinting red upon her breast, within arm’s reach. “You’ll be one of them, sooner or later.” My hand froze halfway extended and in my gut I knew my time was up. As the wader-bird spears a fish, my hand flashed out and snared the brooch. I heard the singing of steel on the air before even turning my head, and palming the cane against the flat of the axe blade, I let it smash against a gravestone in a burst of sparks. The holy man lunged again, and blood-stained metal sliced through my sleeve. Yelling, I ducked behind a tree only to be stung in a hail of splinters, the axe hounding me over and over as I fled across the garden. Gaining a lead of a few yards let me turn at last to my foe. I felt the breeze of the axe’s flight over my head, and the cane swung hard into the man’s ribs. Gasping, he stepped back, unbalanced. I pressed my advantage in a flurry of vicious slashes, that skin should tear and bone should crack. Then a burst of hot metal from a blunderbuss shredded the chest of my coat and stung my body. A gnarled hand swept around to summon lights swarming before my eyes. The sodden muck of the garden struck my back. The light faded to a thin crescent, a glint from an axe blade lifting above me. I scrambled back, only to hear a brief chime ring from my pocket.

 

_“It plays one of Father’s favourite songs. We play it when he forgets us, so he remembers.”_

_Could this be you?_

I turned the handle and that sweet song wove between the headstones. I felt again a pang of sadness take root in my heart. My foe found the melody far less pleasant. Crazed shouting gave way to sobbing and incoherent whimpers, claw-like hands clutching his head in seeming agony. Too great an opportunity to miss. The cane skewered the priest in the gut, twisting for good measure. Spindly fingers seized my coat and the scene tumbled before my eyes, until a gnarled tree crashed against already bruised limbs. Dazed and with ears ringing, I heard the _clunk_ of metal and saw the holy man rush towards me bearing a much extended axe. My roll was swift enough that the crescent blade split the tree in two, rather than my head. The axe whirled in great arcs towards me, humming shrilly as I dodged as best I was able. Sharp teeth were bared as air was sucked between them, “That smell...the sweet blood, oh, it sings to me…”

A headstone was smashed to dust as I fled up a broad set of steps, “…it’s enough to make a man sick.” The dance of steel led us to the edge, where a ragged gap in the railings led back to the graveyard below. The axe sang in the air and I felt steel catch at my hair as I ducked, seeing once again the ruined corpse of the woman beneath the ledge. Anger blossomed in my chest, a hot, dark rage that bubbled below my heart. I bared my own teeth and held the music box before me like a shield. This time its wistful tune lent me no joy. The man howled in despair and my rage crystallised into grim resolve. I kicked him hard in the back, sent him toppling from the ledge like a felled tree. I stood above, like some accusing judge,

          “Would you slay me as you slew her?! _You_ , who names _me_ a beast?!” I leapt, my coat unfolding like the wings of a bird, the cane descending like the bolt of some wrathful Lord. Steel met skin, met bone, met earth, and blood sprayed upon the gravestones. The man coughed more crimson upon the soil, his hands clutching at the air, at the cane that skewered his arched frame. I tasted copper on my tongue and spat into the dirt, “your blood will serve to wash hers away.” The cane was withdrawn, and a hand snapped around my throat like a snake. Bone cracked and popped, the man’s features contorting as my feet left the ground.

The sound of tearing cloth was lost in the climbing shriek that split the night. I hung now in the grip of a hideous caricature of the man I had fought. The malformed jaw gaped wide to scream and howl as I was lifted high, to be smashed to a pulp against the rubble. The cane flailed frantically as lights bloomed across my vision. I felt my left arm swing around, and heard the crack of the pistol. I was released to an agonised screech, and rolled as my feet hit the earth. A clawed hand struck my back but by some miracle I yet kept my feet. There was a sharp _click_ and the whip uncoiled. I whirled with my arm outstretched, and saw the steel teeth of the whip lash across the beast’s face. I struck again as it flinched, flaying cloth and flesh alike, over and over. Hot blood rained upon me and I tasted again the sweetness of copper on my lips. My flight around a group of headstones proved futile when they were crushed to powder by the thing’s frenzy, by its relentless pursuit. I felt claws tug at my coat-tails, and sent the whip lashing out once again. But those shining teeth never found their mark, but instead found a trap. Crooked fingers seized the whip, and I, too slow in relinquishing my grip, was flung hard upon the stone steps.

Orange light flickered above me. My right hand snatched at empty air, for the whip was nowhere to be seen. I saw the scarecrow silhouette rise to blot out the ashen sun, one ruined hand clutching the traitorous whip. The pistol remained loyal, but could do little but slow this thing for an instant. Indeed, I had only one weapon left to me. Trembling fingers held out the battered and bloody box, “ _Please_ remember! She’s waiting. She’s waiting and I _promised_ that I would…I…” But though the creature wailed in anguish, it still lifted the whip to smite me. The pistol fell useless from my hand, and the teeth fell upon me. Fire bloomed in deep red across my body, and again I was lifted, limp as a doll. But that orange light came with me and I stabbed the torch at the beast’s chest. A scream of pain rang in my head as flames consumed the beast’s twisted form. The whip was cast aside, and I leapt again with fire in my hand. The stench of burning hair and skin choked me, and the beast tore across the cobbles in panic. But the flames clung tight, biting and tearing, until the thing’s rages slowed, until at last it collapsed in a pathetic smouldering heap. Taking up the cane and gun, I limped over to the smoking ruin, and put three quicksilver bullets into what remained of the head. I saw the way forward, lit warm and inviting by more torches it led onwards and upwards. My stride began slow but sure, but that waiting portal seemed to grow no closer. Discordant notes echoed as my foot struck the broken music box, as my knees struck the stone, “No…no I can’t…I don’t want to dream…” The stones were cold and slick against my cheek, “She’s waiting…”

Orange light pierced the thick clouds of incense that wove beneath a vaulted ceiling. The first thing to greet me upon my awakening was a splitting headache, as though the holy man’s greataxe had found its mark at my temple. The slightest movement of my limbs cost me in fresh waves of pain, and so I simply lay gazing up into the dust and murk above me.

“Um…’scuse me? Are you all right, there?” My head hurt too much to look around for the speaker.

 

 _If they meant me harm, I’d likely not have awoken. Not_ here _, at least._

I waved one arm feebly in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “You’re very heavy, y’know.”

 

_How rude._

 

While every bone in my body protested, I hauled my battered frame upright and peered around for my rescuer. My eyes fell with some reluctance upon a misshapen heap of ragged robes in a corner. Beneath the hood I could discern a gnarled black face, with a pair of milky eyes rolling blindly every which way. The cane and pistol were laid neatly against a wall and gladly returned to my hand, though the stranger seemed unperturbed, “You need to be careful, wandering the streets when the Hunt is nigh upon us. Too many decent folks don’t last the night.” The fog of dreams gradually receded from my thoughts and, despite the horror I had just endured, this place pushed ease and comfort into my heart.

          “This…is the Cathedral?” What might have been a laugh echoed from the corner,

          “Oh my no, this is but a humble chapel. The Cathedral is above, far above. But it is no place for men to tread, not tonight. What do you seek there?” I walked down the steps to where three doors awaited me, each pointing towards fresh horror no doubt,

          “Answers.”

          I took the left-hand passage, to another yard littered with rubbish, abandoned cases and the endless, endless coffins. Stepping into the centre I was suddenly overcome with a terrible feeling of unease, a paranoia that raised the hairs on my neck. I was alone, indeed the stillness of this place was deafening, yet I was certain there were eyes upon me. The pistol led the climb up a flight of stairs, past rank upon rank of strange statues. Robed figures all kneeling with arms aloft in supplication, or terror. A pale lilac light washed over their veiled stone faces, and I looked around. Ink-black eyes stared without pity into my own. A white-skinned man in a featureless grey coat pointed down at me, a guttural growl emanating from his slack mouth. I caught the sharpened wooden stake he swung against the cane and spun to deliver a crushing strike to the ribs. I lunged again as he surely reeled back…the stake slammed into my side and I was flung against the statues and down the stairs. My foe, undeterred by my attack, drove the point of the stake into my chest with the crunch of bone. The agony had no time to manifest before the dark of dreamless sleep took me once more.

          I scowled up at the chapel ceiling for a long while, pondering whether the Hunt might just end if I stayed lying where I was. But that infernal sun never moved no matter how I waited, and I took the left-hand path again. These new foes were unlike the rabble of the city below, whose limbs were thick with fur and stretched beyond all proportion. Their robes were grey and featureless, _Church enforcers, perhaps?_ Their flawless white skin and night-dark eyes seemed altogether separate, _another strain of the plague, then?_ The Cathedral would have the answers, it _had_ to. This time a snap of the pistol drove the pale man to his knees, where the cane lanced through his throat in a smooth, deadly motion. Another waited before a huge iron gate, bearing no lantern. I let the club whistle through the air between us and snared the whip about the arm of my enemy. Steel teeth found their marks and drew rotten, brown blood. The stake clattered to the steps as I wrenched his arm around. A bullet pierced grey cloth and stained it red. I leapt, the cane re-forming in time to crush his windpipe.

          Despite my frustration, despite the attentions of the cane, that wretched gate stood firm and refused to open. Was there not another passage? I turned about, and indeed a shallow staircase led down towards another cemetery. The sun smouldered low above the horizon and a hot, dry wind tugged at my coat. Before me, the cobbles dropped abruptly into nothingness, and my head spun at the impossible height of the Cathedral Ward towering over the rest of Yharnam. Heavy footfalls bade me turn my head slightly. The footsteps rushed me and I danced aside. The whip uncoiled and snared the charging ogre about the neck. My strength and his own momentum carried him swiftly to his doom. I decided to tempt fate no longer and retreated from the precipice. A winding path led me to a huge pile of rags slumped against a withered tree. Skirting it as best I could, nevertheless my foot caught upon something metallic lying beside the mound of tattered cloth. A rattling moan stirred the hairs on my neck.

          The axe crushed stones to powder behind my fleeing feet. The rags unfolded to reveal a towering giant, one that looked to be a transformed Church soldier. The face was ancient, the eyes long rotted away, though that seemed not to be an obstacle for this creature, and its pursuit was relentless. My fists beat again and again upon the iron gates, the ringing of metal loud enough to cloak the ringing of a bell around the giant’s neck. I spun, seeing sunlight glinting from the upraised axe. I brought the cane to bear, catching the falling axe upon it and heaving it aside. Acting quickly, I viciously slashed at the beast’s legs. Thin lines of red blossomed before my assault, but pain never seemed to find this thing. The axe dropped again, singing past my face by inches to crash against the gate. I saw myself in its silver blade, eyes wide and bounded by deep shadows. A gaping rent remained in the gate as the giant prepared its next attack, and I understood how I might proceed.

 

_Not the strategy I would have chosen first, but we can only play the hands we’re dealt._

Stone shards stung my arms and face and drew a snarl from my throat. I knelt as the axe arced overhead, twisting my body to strike the giant’s knee. I heard bone creak, but the leg did not buckle and I was forced to roll aside or be sliced in two. Steel struck iron again and the shriek of warping metal shivered through my body. Whether the gates had been overcome I had no chance to discern; the giant bellowed its rage to the tattered sky and sent the axe blade singing in a sideways arc. Swiftly I stepped inside the swing and threw all of my strength into a savage punch to the giant’s midsection. Stunned only for a moment, the giant let out a hoarse gasp and I saw the instrument of my victory. A spur of shin-bone protruding from the creature’s knee, impossible to hit in the heat of a fight, nonetheless snapped easily in my hand. A piercing shriek of agony split the twilight and the creature fell to one knee, its ravaged chest heaving. Not wasting a moment, the whip uncoiled once again, and struck like a constricting serpent around the withered neck. The steel teeth tightened their hold. Gritting my teeth, I heaved the thing’s face down to my level and pressed the barrel of the pistol under its chin,

          “Thank you. Rest now.” The report echoed off the sleeping spires. Trailing smoke and strings of blood, the ruined face fell back with a crash that shook the street. Echoes of blood surged through me as I turned to witness the fruits of my labour.

          Twisted, rent and broken, the gates that once blocked my way were sundered and I passed through into a wide circular courtyard. No headstones lingered here, only carved stone slabs arrayed in rings, the names of their occupants long eroded by the rain. But alongside death was also life, or some fashion of it. Two more giants patrolled this place, endlessly trudging beneath this oppressive sky. Across the expanse of stone, the Cathedral rose tall and proud, beckoning silently. But the giants barred my way. One was challenge enough, two would certainly send me back to awaken once more.

 

_‘When the stream meets an obstructing stone, it does not fight. It simply flows around and goes on its way.’_

 

The words of my Dearest were as ever my wisest counsel. My keen eyes found what sought in a side passage, leading away to the left. My tread was light, measured that I should invite no pursuit. The side passage was narrow and choking in fog. I kept the cane poised, for a new sound was intruding on the staccato music of a broken gutter. A low chittering, like a dozen mouths all babbling nonsense sent a current of pain writhing through my mind. A desiccated tree slowly collapsed in the next courtyard, and huddled amidst the roots was hunched figure clad in filthy rags. I wasted no breath on a greeting. Sunlight caught briefly upon the cane’s edge as it lifted high, and my gleeful grin broadened as I struck. I caught the brief glimpse of a mass of white tentacles as the creature turned and flung a fistful of blue light into my eyes. I reeled, clutching my face, in the instant before this thing was upon me. A clawed hand pinned the pistol to the stones. My cries went unanswered as the tentacles that composed the beast’s face reached for mine.

          My flailing arm did nothing, the cane unable to summon force enough to dissuade my foe. One of the tentacles brushed my forehead. Pain unlike any I had endured before flooded me and a scream of agony was my only recourse. White fire seared every nerve I possessed, I kicked my legs to no avail, seeing unimaginable horrors leer out of the crimson mist before my eyes. They gibbered in hideous, unspeakable tongues, _promises of the moon! Of the Dream! Of the One, of the MOON THE MOON THE MOTHER AND CHILD…!_ Tears coursed freely down my cheeks as the world returned. I rolled to my feet, one hand to my temple. The creature leapt again, tentacles straining towards me. My coat flared and the cane flung the beast’s emaciated form against the dead tree. I unleashed the whip and snared the creature’s throat with a practiced swing, the last of my strength served to snap its neck. I scrubbed the grime of the cobbles from my coat and made for a staircase descending deeper into the fog.

          A howling wolf-man rushed me, swinging madly a length of wood stuck with vicious metal tines. The spikes foiled the whip and nearly wrenched it from my grasp. I thrust my boot into its belly and shattered its skull with the cane. My victory had a price, however, and a bullet dove from the mist into my shoulder. A snarl came through clenched teeth and I charged heedless at the rifleman. Eager for vengeance, the cane sowed blood upon stone and my wounds were cleansed. A sickle sang upon the air amidst cries of panic. Seeing the wretch cowering in this alley, I watched his collapsed pupils trembling at my approach. A beastly grin sprang once again onto my face, perhaps joined by a smug chuckle as the cane came around with a splintering crack. Calm returned as blood melded with drain-water, but just as quickly it was replaced by frustration. I had slaughtered a score of these fools and yet come no closer to the Cathedral! Only one passage lay ahead of me now, and fading hope bade me go onwards, to where red smoke wove through the curtains of grey mist.

          A dead end. The flank of a spire rose up before me, unheeding of my rages, of my gloved fist raining down upon it.

          “Oh my, what have we here?” The cane whipped around first, hungering for blood. But instead I found only a large door, solid oak with the smallest hatch in the centre. Deep blue eyes watched me from within, with malice or amiability I could not tell, “No need to ask what you are, young lad. I know a Hunter to see one.” I straightened, pulling my scarf away from my face, “Oh, and a _handsome_ lad at that. What brings you to this sorry town, then?” A horse croak was all that remained of my voice, so long unused, “or are you merely a toad in the shape of a lad?” I scowled,

          “I-I am Finch. I seek an audience with the highest of the Church, to bargain for their cure, this...Paleblood.” Some emotion flitted light across the sliver of the woman’s face I could see. _Pity, perhaps? Or suspicion?_

          “Ah, of course. Well I’m afraid there’s only poor Amelia left now, the rest succumbed to this curse long ago. She always had a strong spine, that one.” My spirits plunged. _Only one remains? Has this plague utterly destroyed any hope for me?_

          “Will this Amelia be willing to help me?”

          “I’m sure I don’t know, sweetheart. Those lordly folks of the Cathedral don’t often stoop to associations with my sort.” Her tone let the question die on my lips, so I merely nodded courteously,

          “My thanks to you for the warning, Miss…”

          “Arianna,” she replied with a wink. As I made to leave, however, her expression abruptly changed, “If…I might beg a favour of you? This town, it’s…well you must’ve seen what’s happening. Might you know of any safe havens? I’m running low on the incense, you see.” I pondered for a moment, until an answer found purchase in my brain,

          “The chapel, the one overlooking a graveyard. There’s a fellow there, a strange one. But not, I think, a malicious sort.” The corners of the woman’s eyes rose in joy,

          “Oedon Chapel, I know it well. Though I’d be loath to venture there until the moonrise, I think. Thank you, sweet boy, and fair fortune to you on your Hunt.”

          _There was nothing for it_ , came the thought unbidden to my mind, the only way to the Cathedral and Amelia lay past the two giants. The words of my Dearest rose again to guide me, _time for the stream to become a torrent_. If they could not be fought, I would simply outrun them. The Cathedral’s doors would surely be stout enough to deter even them. My journey through the fog returned me to the ruin of the pale creature with its squid-like face. Even the sight of it set inane murmurs clawing at my senses, and I moved on with haste. Squinting against the ashen sun that yet defied the horizon, I returned to the broad circular yard and looked upon the hulking form of the Cathedral. The giants were slumped either side of the far gate, motionless save for shallow, rasping breaths. A space of perhaps a metre was my window, and I broke into a resolute sprint. Blood thundered in my ears, my feet struck a frantic rhythm upon the stones and I leapt for the gap. I was committed and too late in seeing that trap sprung upon me. A figure in yellow garb detached from the shadows behind the leftmost giant. The yellow coat flared and sickly sunlight flickered along the edge of a cleaver’s blade as it dove for my heart.


	3. The Frailty of Men

The man in yellow became the bane of my assault on the Cathedral. I could take no more than a half-dozen steps beyond the red-clouded sanctuary of Oedon Chapel before he leapt from some unseen alleyway or dropped from a roof in a hail of clay tiles. No beastly roars or mangled condemnations accompanied his vicious attacks, perhaps he felt no need, for again and again he overwhelmed the cane’s defence. I was becoming intimately familiar with the Chapel ceiling and my impotent rage only made my form that much easier to best. After a dozen such humiliating defeats, the tattered remnants of my resolve at last wove themselves back together.

 

_If force of arms cannot defeat him, subtlety might seek its chance..._

 

There were other ways out of the Chapel, that in my haste I had forgone. A small yard lay beyond another door, scattered with yet more coffins and an overturned carriage. Slick stone steps led up and up towards the Cathedral, and I prayed to the Lords that the man in yellow might overlook me just this once. A ragged troop of crows lurked at the foot of the staircase, their enormous yellow eyes flickering in all directions. My teeth shone white in a broad smile and I flourished the whip, its own shining teeth chattering upon the stones. Oily black feathers tumbled amidst droplets of blood in a sweeping arc and strangled screeches were quickly silenced. My foot rose to gain the first step, and stopped. Leather gloves creaked on the cane’s handle, my ears pricking at some new sound. The scrape of sackcloth through the layers of grime and blood brought my head around. Eyes shot thick with blood stared into mine from beneath a tattered hood. Black teeth bared and the stranger swung their arm down. A huge sack smacked to the cobbles with a wet crunch, releasing a wave of foulest odour. I danced back, re-forming the cane.

 

_At last, a foe whose blood might hold some worth._

 

I ducked beneath this thing’s makeshift cudgel and slammed the cane into its side. Ribs cracked and pierced flesh, sowing blood upon the stone. A long-fingered hand stretched out to grasp my throat but I flung it aside with the cane. The tall man paused, spittle flying from ragged lips in a feral snarl, and for a moment his skin rippled with an umbral aura. With a succession of disgusting cracks, his shattered arm was made whole and he slammed a fist into my chest. Breath and blood rushed from my mouth. The assault did not relent, and my boots scrambled through the dirt before a rain of punishing blows. Steeling myself, I drove the cane towards the creature’s gut. His only response was to bare his ruined teeth and seize me about the neck.

 

 _Oh_.

 

The sky spun overhead until the cobbles slammed into my back, setting stone bells to ringing in my head. Again, again and twice more I was flung upon the stone before the bliss of unconsciousness enveloped my senses.

Leather scraped over ancient flagstones thick with dust. I yearned for the peaceful glow of a lamp, for the clouds of heady incense. They answered me not. Something held my leg in a vice grip, dragging my battered frame to some fresh torture. To my churning thoughts strained the sound of a multitude of voices lost to some monstrous chant. Their gibbering, droning notes seared across my brain and drove me back into the dark...

 

_Yahar’gul...yahar’gul...yaaahhaaar’guuuuul..._

 

...The blood, the blood, the old man and the lake. My Dearest is waiting. Waiting beneath the...

 

_YAAHAAAR’GUUUUL...YAAHAAAR’GUUUUL…_

 

...THE MOON THE MOON **THE BLOOD AND THE DEEP!**

 

A foul taste lingered in my mouth when my eyes snapped open. Groaning, I rolled to my side and heaved a mouthful of saltwater into the dust. Light struggled through the billowing clouds of rot, sickly and pale. _A lamp, even here?_ It would be my escape from...wherever I was, either way. My leaden bones creaked as I rose to confront the hissing lantern. None of the twisted little grey things reached out to heed me, however, and I knelt in fervent prayer for a reprieve. Nothing. My only answer was that maddening choir, unrelenting in their droning sermon. I would have to claw my own way out of this pit, it seemed. _So be it_. The cane and pistol were close by, as ever. A Hunter once more, I looked around at where I had been abandoned. Dust hung so thickly in the air one might think I stood at the bottom of some flooded cellar. The ceiling above was lost behind the oppressive murk, but from it descended rank upon rank of iron bars.

 

_A gaol, then._

 

Prone forms lay scattered at my feet, most of them dead. A handful lay, unmoving, waiting for prey to wander blindly to the slaughter. The ruse availed them nothing, and their howls cut through the quiet like the surgeon’s scalpel. Past their ruined corpses lay a breach in the wall. The bricks and mortar so ravaged by age that they crumbled at my slightest touch. Fresher air moaned in from the darkness beyond, and I was compelled to proceed. Even the sickly sun struggled in vain to lay its unseemly light upon the ground here, so deep we were in the pit. The towers of Yharnam were a cage around me, black bars against banners of orange cloud. Deep in the pit lay a broad patch of fetid grass, and beyond stood a towering gate wreathed in ancient-looking ivy. Upon the blackened earth, I glimpsed by the fading light a heap of matted grey fur struck through with flashes of white bone. My leather gloves creaked in anticipation of an ambush. So far below the open sky, there came no breath of wind to stir the wallowing mists. Like an ice-breaking barge I cut a path through the murk towards that dread portal, hoping only that it led upward and out of this pit of nightmares.

The hem of my coat caught at jagged bone and was snared fast. My lip curled in contempt of so tame a hindrance and I pulled hard against its grasp, earning a jagged tear in the leather as recompense.  Such a small misfortune settled like a strip of hay upon those already heaped upon me like great chains of iron, and a quiet, seething hiss escaped between my teeth. The dust of decades tumbled away from the ivy as the cane savaged its way through to wrought metal. No strength of man could hope to part such gates as these, were they newly forged and not rusted to immobility.

 

_At every turn, I am thwarted! Trapped and tormented by HOW THEY WRITHE...this thrice-cursed city!_

 

My impotent rage struck sparks against unfeeling iron. More creaking intruded upon the quiet. Creaking, yet my hands were still. A change, a charge, had come upon the air. I turned and met the eyeless gaze of a withered skull. The last tatters of black fur and skin fluttered above a rictus grin. This beast, its wolfish body ancient beyond imagining, raised a skeletal hand. I gave it no chance to strike, and fled beneath it towards the open space. Enraged, it whirled to face me, its skull-grin splitting in a feral scream. The whip would be of little use here, such a beast would not be entangled by a l one Hunter. But its scarecrow limbs, naked bone adorned with the merest wisps of fur, would ill enjoy the attentions of the cane, so I ducked a wild swipe of its foreleg and brought steel crashing down. Cracks spread along its forearm and the beast howled to the distant sky. I could ill afford to waste this opening and struck again at the fractured leg, knocking it aside and aiming to pierce its chest and whatever calcified ruin of a heart it still possessed. Yet the air crackled around me, the hairs of my neck standing straight. My eyes could glimpse only a flash of blue light before pain consumed my every nerve. I was flung back in a crumpled mess, my limbs twitching and jerking beyond my control.

When my vision returned, I saw the beast, crouched and ready to spring. Every hair of its body flickered with crackling arcs, a storm ensnared by this monstrous creature. Air huffed from my nose in distaste, and I struggled to my feet. The cane spun lazily as I sized up my opponent, which stood taller than the crumbling cottage of my youth.

 

_No way to hurt it without provoking a shock...snake eyes once again._

 

The darkbeast lunged, claws stretching forth to crush me like an ant. I loosed a quicksilver bullet at the right hand, striking orange sparks in place of the blue, and swung the cane again at the wounded left foreleg. Bone crunched, such a wonderful sound. A vengeful swipe plucked the hat from my head and we two recoiled again from one another. My nerves seemed afire from even so brief a clash with its lightning, but most of all I felt disappointment.

 

_Where is the blood? I’ll get no echoes from crumbling bones, no precious red to feed the soil…_

 

We clashed once more, the beast slammed its right hand to the ground at my feet. I reversed my grip and plunged the cane through its hand to pin it fast to the earth. Screeching rage assailed my ears, and the beast fell perfectly into the trap I had set. The left hand rose up to smite me, not seeing the teeth my grin had bared. I freed its pinned hand and, with expert aim, lanced the cane between the bones of the left foreleg. It took all my strength not to let the cane wrench free of my hand, even as quivering arcs scorched my coat. Wasting no time, like a lever I twisted it, hearing a symphony of splintering bone until the task was done. My foe wailed and thrashed at the pain and indignity of its wound. I spat upon the severed hand and charged into battle once more.

Back and forth we smote one another, the beast crippled by its missing limb, and I by the constant attacks of electricity upon my nervous system. I dove again beneath its skeletal torso, striking at the exposed ribs and spine. Wise to my strategy, the darkbeast arched its back, drawing in energy to its core as I realised too late what was coming. All turned to light and searing pain, and for a moment I thought my time had ended. Smoke curled upward from my coat and trousers, tiny arcs still flickering along twitching limbs. Through miraculous luck, the cane lay close to my outstretched hand, though my gaze held fast to the dark mass obscuring the sun-scorched sky. Empty eyes and broken teeth yawned wide above me, and dove faster than a falcon. All memory of lanterns and reawakenings had left me as something deeper in my mind took hold. The cane leapt to my defence with slivers of a second to spare. A tremendous jolt came a hair’s breadth from snapping my arms like desiccated twigs, the cane had lodged between the darkbeast’s jaws, with only what strength I could summon yet sparing me my grisly fate.

Clouds of dust billowed at the beast’s thrashing attempts to savage my flesh, but the cane held fast. Arcs struck at my arms and hands, drawing angry red lines on my skin, and I considered at a fevered pace how to escape. The pistol yet remained clutched by the few fingers I could spare, but to aim and fire would mean the failure of the cane’s defence. Yet I had no alternative. The beast drew back slightly to at last break the limits of my strength and I took my chance. I barely recall where I aimed, but the pistol rang loud and bright. My foe toppled back, clutching its head and letting out the most ungodly screech. I rose and strode grimly to the killing ground, stooping only to retrieve my hat. A ruin of a face turned to me, one side utterly blown apart from my point-blank attack, flakes of ancient skin tumbling away like ash. I released the whip and snared it about the throat, just as all the others. The thing seemed almost pitiful now, cowed and broken in a heap. I placed the muzzle of the pistol between its eyes…

 

_Almost._

 

“I will see you bleed yet.” Crows took from the trees in fright at the shot, and all was quiet once again. I sighed, relieved, and considered where next to go. The gate was a lost cause,

 

 _There must be another path, back through the gaol. I refuse to die next to this tragic carcass._ I gave no thought to the strange, storm-wreathed creature slain in my wake, and returned to the dusty silence of the cellar. Whereupon my suspicions were proven correct.

A pair of curving staircases lay beyond a web-choked doorway, leading up into a vast and empty hall. Chandeliers creaked amidst the floating dust, bereft of candles, the only light offered to me was the last offering of a waning sun. By those dregs of light struggling against the dust, my eyes found above a most unwholesome visage.

A statue towered over me, carved in too fine a likeness for my own taste, for the subject of the work was no noble saint or revered lord, but some twisted... _thing_ , with a bulbous oval head bound in some strange fungal lattice, adorned with a tangle of many-jointed limbs that clutched a barbed spear. My vision swam and my ears were assailed by a high-pitched ringing as I tried to make sense of it, tried to imagine what kind of deranged cult would venerate such a monstrous being. Another staircase led to the very foot of the statue, but my eyes were glad to stray and witness the sight of dozens of seated figures clustered in the trembling shadows. Every one of them bore a ridiculous-looking cage over their head and every one of them had lain cold and still for a long time. Like autumn leaves their decaying skin fluttered down to join the dust. None seemed to have perished at the hand of any beast, seated as they were in serene repose, yet dead they were each and every one. Some of the corpses were very small…

This was not the Yharnam I knew. That statue should not be here...should not _be_ . Now it crawled through my thoughts like a spider, its every step a flower of pain in my mind! I could not...had to...had to _get out getoutoUTOUT!_ My teeth ground upon one another as I clutched at my head, tears springing unwelcomed to my eyes. The statue was bearing down upon me now, clawed, twitching fingers reaching out, heedless of the thrashing cane…

 

_Lords save me…_

 

Stars blossomed before my eyes, flickering lights against the endless dark, arranged in flowing threads like pearls on a necklace. My red-rimmed eyes regarded the moon’s shining countenance in renewed horror as it descended. A cry split the deafening silence, echoing wails of some nightmare infant. My prayer was answered. The glow of the moon obscured the blue-grey of my eyes, her loving hands extending towards me, her voice calling to me in tones so rapturous that my eyes and ears bled with joy to hear it. Sinuous arms, dripping with light, bound me in a tender embrace. A beautiful flower of pain blossomed behind my temples, and I watched in macabre fascination as the pearls of blood floated away from my face to kiss the gleaming skin of the moon. Drop by drop her perfect face grew sickly, her silver song darkened, smothered as the nightmare child wailed louder and louder. I covered my eyes, thrashing against the star-speckled arms that bound me.

 

_Enough…too bright, too loud…_

 

The moon with her crimson veil reared before me, scrutinising, _accusing_ , all while the howling of the _child_ drowned out all rational thought.

 

_Enough…enough! Release me from this nightmare! Please!_

 

Beneath her baleful red gaze, I saw the moon reaching out with clawed fingers, her face a twisted knot of blackness as I was seized in an inescapable grasp…

 

**W E A K**

 

…It was uttered in no tongue I recognised, yet that seemed no obstacle, and its meaning screamed across my soul like astral fire. Trails of saltwater fled down my cheeks as the layers of my being were flayed away…

 

**U N W O R T H Y**

 

I fled before the onslaught until all the dross and slag was stripped away, until at last the core was laid bare as a blazing knot of silver. I felt its familiar shape, a bird in flight, the brooch bestowed upon me by my Dearest. The moon recoiled from its burning aura and I was free…

 

_No! You will not have me! Not yet! I have work to do._

 

Eons seemed to pass as my shattered self coagulated to its original form, as the moon sat in judgement over me. Then, at last, the swaying forest of starlight shivered at its utterance…

 

**B E T T E R**

 

Darkness crept its sinuous fingers around the moon’s gleaming countenance and reclaimed this realm as its own. Blessed numbness leeched into my skin, into my mind as I closed my eyes in relief.

A sad sight awaited me as I dragged my thoughts from the torporous mire of sleep, a blackened scar upon the earth with a lump of charred flesh and bone at its heart. The mortal remains of the holy man, if such a thing even mattered in this untethered realm. My thoughts clung to one another, my mind thick with fog, until the slightest pressure upon my right shoulder brought all into the sharpest focus. I looked across, but had already smelled the unmistakable mixture of steel and blood that foretold another grisly awakening. The silver crescent of a saw cleaver rested lightly upon my shoulder, its razor edge not at all far from the pulsing artery in my neck. I knew whose hand clasped the handle at its other end, the man in yellow breathed deeply between clenched teeth as he swung his arm back. As I sought my last glimpse of the tattered sky, a great rush of black wings kicked up clouds of ash to a cacophony of screeches. Atop a belltower, I glimpsed a ragged black shape edged in silver.

Two curving knives flashed in precise and deadly arcs, casting up ribbons of the yellow-clad man’s blood. He met his challenger without hesitation, however, and the pair danced about one another with the grace of master duellists. Sparks flashed with each ferocious strike, as steel met steel with the swiftness of lightning. In the fleeting seconds when both opponents spun away from their clash, I glimpsed a most unsettling visage lurking beneath a pointed black hat. The face of a crow, pale as bone, betrayed neither fear nor malice as the figure leapt towards the man in yellow once more. I became sickened to watch, morbidly aware now of just how outclassed I was in this macabre contest.

But there came a misstep, a feint to the left  which succeeded in its deception, and the masked figure placed their right foot too far to the right. Both they and I saw the mistake as one, as time congealed around that fateful moment. As the shining cleaver swung back, pristine of blood as if in mockery of the wound it meant to inflict. Indignation welled within my breast, outrage that this brave soul should be felled for defending another. The cane uncoiled mid-swing, reaching out with its silver teeth as the man in yellow split his face in a mad grin of triumph. The whip snapped taut, and time unwound once again. The yellow-clad man hissed at the whip’s teeth biting deep into his arm, but for more than that he was left no time. A flash of silver flickered under his chin and pierced his skull in one fluid motion. The twitching corpse crumpled to the sodden earth. The crow-faced hunter flicked the blood from their strange knives and padded over to where I knelt, wide-eyed and breath-held.

“Y’ have my thanks, little bird. Saved me a nasty cut. T'is a shame about Henryk,” the crow’s beak turned briefly upon the fallen man in yellow, “But a duty is a duty and so it must be done. After Gascoigne finally snapped, I knew Henryk wouldn’t last long.” Those coin-round eye-holes fixed their glassy gaze upon me, “Though the credit for that kill is yours, I believe.” Whatever excuses and protestations I felt might save me could not escape my throat as anything more than a stammer, though my rescuer did not lash out with silver blades, “he was falling apart, I’m sure it had to be done. But in future, you should leave the hunting of Hunters to me and mine.” I stood and tried to scrub the worst of the filth from my garb, the Hunter of Hunters watching me as one might a pet, “Gehrman sent you, didn’t he? Mad old strip of leather in a wheelchair?” I nodded, throat tight, “A Hunter would do well to shed those nerves while he can, little bird, if you mean to last the night.”

“He said that to me as well,” the woman, for I discerned from her voice that she was indeed a woman, laughed roughly,

“Of course he did. But none venture to the Hunter’s Dream seeking solely his barked counsel. What business have you in wretched Yharnam?”

“I seek audience with the highest of the Church, with naught but a name as guidance. Amelia.” The crow-faced mask foiled maddeningly my attempts at reading her expressions, yet her voice was thick with...pity?

“Ah, Amelia. Of course. But if that’s your course I’ll not dissuade you, a lack of purpose is as deadly to such as we as the jaws of the beasts.” She reached into her sleeve and produced a fistful of paper sheets, “Fire paper. Just...in case.” I took them gratefully, and the Hunter of Hunters stood and watched me begin the climb to Oedon Chapel.

The white-faced men bellowed their incoherent condemnations in vain before the whip’s bite, until I stood again in that broad circular courtyard once again. Two more Church giants patrolled mindlessly, barely aware of my fleeting presence and I was able to pass by without provoking another difficult fight. Before me, the Cathedral rose vast and silent towards the darkening sky, bereft of grandiose adornment beyond its intricate stonework. Church enforcers barred the way up a sweeping set of steps, dark-clad unlike the rest of their kin and brandishing thick staves of whispering wood. My lips grew pale as they lifted to bare pearly teeth, parted enough to free a rattling hiss to match the dance of steel teeth across sodden stone. They groaned their guttural challenges and strode down to meet this unwelcome intruder. Steel sang upon the air in graceful arcs, freeing great banners of blood upon the walls. My transgressions were answered with a crushing blow from a staff into my ribs. The impact overwhelmed my senses with a cacophony of voices babbling and gibbering inside my head, and with streaming eyes I saw at the last instant a second strike bearing down upon me. The cane re-formed as I danced aside, to come smashing into the monster’s knee with a hollow crunch of bone and ligament. I offered him no respite and delivered the killing blow to his temple, cracking the skull. But what spilled forth upon the steps was not the sickening palette of pink and white, of blood and brains, but eyes. Dozens of eyes, their pupils warped and collapsed, lay round as marbles in a pool of slime. I marvelled that my stomach did not heave at the sight, or the smell, wiped the cane clean on the enforcer’s coat and turned to my next victim.

 

_Pity for those poor sods in the city below, for their cries of pain and terror. Not for these, though. No man has skin so white nor eyes so black. Even their blood is wrong. Brown, not  sweetest crimson._

 

_Rotten._

 

_Have to spILL IT ALL To be sure._

 

And so my passage up to the Cathedral doors left in its wake a mire of broken bodies, brown blood and staring eyes. The wood of the doors was of the same make as their staves. Dark as wine and oozing sap, it coiled in frightful forms far overhead. Images of the deepest depths, promises whispered of knowledge most unwholesome, a choking fog that clung to my thoughts. I pulled my hand away, yet had no memory of having reached out. But the deed was done and ancient hinges yielded to my touch.

Darkness reigned within, though not unchallenged. The last light of dusk lit wearily upon yet more steps, flanked by statues in the same guise as the one I remembered from the dungeon. Their bulbous, eyeless heads stared at nothing, while their spindle-thin arms bore aloft a sharp stone harpoon. But though I stood at the threshold for several fevered breaths, none of them crept to life, yet my progress was not without wary sidelong glances. I reached the top and beheld the object of my long and torturous search, last the sun slipped at last beneath the horizon.

“Seek the Old Blood. Let us pray, let us wish, to partake in communion.” A small figure knelt in tattered garb before an altar almost wholly lost beneath pale candles. I kept my approach cautious, ears pricked for an ambush. “Let us partake in communion, and feast upon the Old Blood. Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears.” It was a woman, draped in white, her brow almost resting upon the stone floor. Her words were as calm as a woodland stream, but to hear them sent undercurrents of muttering to slither amidst my thoughts, “seek the Old Blood, but beware the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, their minds young. The foul beasts will dangle nectar, and lure the meek into the depths.” I trod a wide circle, setting my cane and pistol to one side in good faith. The woman clutched in her hands a golden pendant, its sheen grown dull now with age and attention, “Were it not for fear…”

“Amelia? Are you Amelia?” She ceased her fevered rocking, her breath coming fast,

“...Death would go unlamented.” I tried not to let my words spill forth, this poor soul seemed traumatised enough to my eyes,

“My name is Finch. I-I have come searching...come to the Church to find...answers.” She kept her eyes firmly upon her pendant, yet replied in a quavering voice,

“Are you...awake? Are you...real?”

 

_Poor wretch, trapped up here alone with those pale men, yet my duty offers little time to spare for compassion._

“Aye, but I have a mission. My Dearest has sent me for Yharnam’s cure. For...Paleblood.”Her trembling worsened and I feared I had overstepped,

“Please, Gehrman told me-,” She hissed,

“Y-you are one of _them_ . You reek of it, even in this holy place how could you…?” Her thin voice grew heavy with despair, with choking sobs, “You fall from the Dream, spit _his_ name in this holy edifice, reeking of the moon!” Convulsions wracked her slender frame now, and I cried out in desperation,

“No! You must listen to me! Paleblood, wh...Please, I have to know!” Yet in her rage and sorrow Amelia was wholly lost to me . I saw a gaunt face snap around, saw dark-circled eyes with collapsed pupils staring madly up at me. I stepped back as the clouds parted beyond the windows at my back, flooding this lofty hall at last with soft silver light.

The Moon had come at last.

The golden pendant bounced end over end to rest against the altar, its staccato song lost beneath the rising shriek of pain and anguish, and the sound of tearing cloth. Resignation and disappointment weighed on my heart as I flourished the cane. Flowers of blood splashed upon the altar and I looked warily upon a pile of tangled limbs and shredded vestments. An enormous clawed hand took up the pendant, the reflection glimpsed in its tarnished surface set free a howl of maddened despair. Veiled still by the remains of a hood, a wolfish maw snapped at the air between us. A long mane of white fur took the place of a cloak while black antlers curled upwards to brush the vaulted ceiling itself. I swallowed my fears, and rushed headlong to meet my foe.


End file.
